


With Winter Comes The Birth Of A New Life

by Order_Of_The_Forks



Series: It’s Gonna Feel Like Heaven When We’re Home [1]
Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future, canon compliant I guess, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Order_Of_The_Forks/pseuds/Order_Of_The_Forks
Summary: Christmas Eve was the most romantical time of year, wasn’t it?





	With Winter Comes The Birth Of A New Life

“I would like to be proposed to on Christmas Eve,” Anne announced. “Isn’t it just the most romantical of all the days in the year? Except, of course, Christmas, but it wouldn’t be my ideal to finally get my proposal in a church, of all places. I’d prefer… a moonlit path, with untouched snow, and frost glistening on the tree branches in lieu of emerald leaves.”

Anne had quite a lot of scope for imagining her perfect Christmas Eve proposal, as it was Christmas Eve that very night. The Cuthberts were preparing for a quiet, hearty dinner. 

Inside, it was a perfect holiday picture. A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the parlor, alit with countless flickering candles. Marilla had, after much pleading, allowed Anne to decorate the house, and she had. Popcorn garlands graced the walls and banister, boughs of pine hung from the rafters, a rare orange had been baked and strung across the windows, creating an exquisite stained-glass look, if Anne did say so herself. 

Outside of the house, however, it was barely winter, much less a wonderland. Only an inch or two of snow had fallen, and although it seemed to never stop snowing, it very rarely stuck, leaving the ground muddy and trampled. Some stubborn trees refused to let go of their brown leaves, ruining the whole look. So Anne imagined a perfect winter and imagined up a perfect proposal to go along. 

“It’s the most magical time, isn’t it, Marilla?” Anne said, carefully placing a bowl of carrots on the table. “No bad things are out. They all go away and leave room for everything good.”

Marilla looked at the girl, who had taken to twirling around the kitchen, holding her apron out as if to imagine herself a ball gown. “Stop that,” she said. “We wouldn’t want you getting burned on this perfect night.” Anne stopped, stumbling for a second before regaining her composure. “This isn’t about-”

“No!” Anne blurted. “This has nothing to do with anything except the magic in the air. I know that if I was proposed to on a night like this, my marriage would be magical as well.”

Anne knew Marilla thought she was daft. She was only eighteen and besides, no boy had even come to court her yet. This was Anne’s most dreadful disappointment. All her friends had beaus. Ruby, true to her word, had gotten herself a beau at fifteen. She proceeded to have four more after that, until she stuck with one boy. Diana, of course, being positively radiant, had all the choices in the world, and chose a long-distance relationship with a boy from the colonies. The rest of the girls at the schoolhouse had as well flowered into ravishing young women, whereas Anne stayed the same.

She was taller, that was for sure, but she was taller than the rest of the class and didn’t nearly have enough of a figure to make it attractive. Her freckles were still as bright as ever, and her face remained homely and childish. Her red hair had slowly transitioned to auburn, and as it did so slowly dropped from Anne’s list of earthly dissatisfactions, replaced instead by a burning jealousy and want for a beau.

Anne kept herself busy as they prepared for dinner by stewing in her own discontent, and before she knew they were saying grace and the most perfect night of the year had begun.

The dinner was scrumptious, as always, and the pie she had made was absolutely splendid. She had followed Marilla’s family recipe to a T and it showed. But the dinner wasn’t the best part of the night. The best part came when they were all sitting in the parlor, talking and laughing and joking about the panto. 

Just as Matthew had finished a story about his old cart horse, Owl, there was a swift knock at the door. Marilla stood up with a sly grin. “Would you like me to get it?”

Anne stood up to match her. “No, thank you. I think I should be able to handle it.”

“Make sure to wear your good boots!” Marilla called after her. “It’s muddy out there.”

Anne dutifully pulled on the ugly brown boots, which she felt ruined her whole outfit. But it was wet enough to slip and slide on the mud all the way to Charlottetown, so she reasoned it was for the best. Through the window next to the door an expectant face peered in. 

“Gilbert Blythe,” she said as she opened the door. “What a pleasant, yet unexpected, surprise.”

He grinned. “Care for a moonlit walk in the woods?”

This had been a tradition of theirs for years. On any other day, Anne would decline, as the woods came alive with spirits and spectres at night. But on Christmas Eve, everything was peaceful. 

Anne accepted, and together they walked arm and arm into the forest. 

They had found a small clearing close to the edge of the woods where everything felt more enchanting, and Gilbert steered them there. 

He sat down on a large log and patted the space next to him. “I don’t bite,” he quipped. 

Anne was hesitant to sit. She was wearing her best dress (which wasn’t saying much, really), and she didn’t want the fabric to get stained. Gilbert must’ve understood her inner turmoil, because he shed his coat and laid it on the log next to him. 

“You’ll get cold!” Anne protested.

Gilbert shrugged in that easy way of his. “I don’t mind.”

They were, Anne remarked as she sat down, good friends. Gilbert truly did care for her, and she for him. After he had returned from his worldly affairs, they found themselves in a fast friendship. Gilbert was attractive, this was an objective fact that Anne knew very well. He was tall (one of the few boys taller than her, a fact that provided endless pleasure) and lean, yet muscular from his years of hard work. There was, of course, his hair, which was dark and curly and just begged one to reach up and touch it. Anne knew that sooner or later, someone would snatch him up and she would be left as an afterthought, beau-less and alone. Oh, how she wished to run her hands through his hair before the chance was gone forever!

“Why do you think the weather is so poor this year?” Anne asked, trying to focus on anything other than Gilbert’s hair. 

“Just too warm for snow,” he mused. 

Anne hummed. “Well, it’s nice. I wish it was snowing, though. Snow makes everything more mystical. It’s like… a giant comes down and sprinkles the world with powdered sugar, like those cakes the Barrys make for occasions.”

“I never would’ve thought of that,” Gilbert said, craning his neck up towards the sky. “I think all the scope for imagination is right inside that brain of yours, Annie.”

It was a silly nickname, one Gilbert had coined as a way to poke fun at her insistence of adding “with an e!” onto anyone saying her name. And although it was just a joke, it made Anne’s heart swell.

Anne grinned looked up as well. The evergreen trees jutted into the sky, leaving a ragged hole of ebony night bare. The stars shone brightly and Anne closed her eyes, imagining that they were bathing her in light just like the sun. 

When she opened her eyes, she saw Gilbert looking at her. 

They sat under the arching cathedral of trees, studying each other’s faces in the moonlight. 

“I have something for you,” Anne said abruptly, tearing her eyes away. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pocketwatch. “You always bring me the most marvelous gifts, and I’m truly thankful, I am, but I felt bad about never having a gift for you. I bought this from a very kind peddler for a one-cent coin and a cheese sandwich. He was lovely company, and as I was perusing his wares I found this. I think doctors and other men of academia and knowledge always look so dignified with their pocketwatches, and so I got this for you even though it doesn’t work and you might already have one, but…” she stopped. Of all the people in the world, Gilbert was the only one who could bring a full-throttle monologue to a grinding halt in the middle of the tracks. “I saw it and thought of you.”

Gilbert’s face split into a large, genuine smile. “Thanks, Annie. You know, I have something for you, too.”

Anne twisted her face into a very unbecoming scowl. “No! But I know you’ll show up my present!”

“Maybe,” Gilbert said slyly. He motioned for her to stand up, pulling his jacket onto his lap and searching around the pockets. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were going to throw a fit over getting your dress dirty.”

She scowled again. “I did not!”

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” he drawled. Finally, he found what he was looking for. It was a small box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. It looked familiar.

“You’ve already given me the dictionary,” Anne said, feeling as though she had won. “The Christmas you came back from your exotic ports of call.” 

He grinned. “Open it.”

Anne obliged. She could feel Gilbert’s eyes watching her as she unwrapped the little package, and it made her anxious. Inside was a leather box with the initials E.M.C. 

“E.M.C. was my grandmother,” Gilbert explained, not needing prompting. “Elizabeth Mercy Carpenter.”

“What?” Anne started to ask, but the question died in her mouth as she opened the box. 

Inside was a ring.

Anne felt dizzy, and she was tempted to sit back down, but she held steadfast to her stubbornness not to dirty her dress. Gilbert slowly stood up. “I know it’s early, and out of the blue, but…” There was that grin again, that nervous, fleeting, cocky, heart-melting smile. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, will you marry me?”

Anne didn’t respond right away, even though in the deepest pits of her stomach she knew the answer. The more she stood in shocked silence, the more the answer spread, filling her from her toes to the highest strand of her horribly red hair and spilling out in the form of salty tears that stung her eyes and left warm tracks down her freckles cheeks.

Gilbert opened his mouth as if to say something, but Anne silenced him by holding up a shaking hand. 

“I’m not thinking,” she said slowly, “I know already. I just…” she laughed, and wasn’t she a picture, laughing and shaking and crying all at the same time. Really, it was astounding anyone would even consider marrying her. “I can’t bear to ruin the moment by choosing a disappointing word.”

It took her a second to realize Gilbert was laughing too. 

Anne smiled. “Indubitably,” she said at last.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “And that means…”

“Yes!” She cried. 

Gilbert wrapped his arms around her and she realized he was crying as well, and what a picture they were, laughing and shaking and crying and embracing in pure bliss. 

As she looked down at the perfect ring on her finger, she forgot all about the mud and the warm weather and her clunky boots. It was a perfect proposal, right out of any fairy tale. Princess Cordelia never would’ve dreamed anything quite like this. 

They stood there in silence for a few seconds, just letting all that had happened sink in. She was engaged. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was affianced- to Gilbert Blythe of all people!

Emotions from deep inside her seemed to well up and she let out a loud, high-pitched shriek that sent the hidden birds in the trees flying, like confetti exploding from the treetops, and fell into Gilbert’s arms once more.

He grinned and squinted his eyes at his own present, Anne’s lackluster pocketwatch. “We’d better get going,” he said lightly. “Say’s here it’s quarter to noon.”

They laughed until their stomachs hurt, thrown off by emotions and discombobulated by joy. Together they walked back to the fields shoulder to shoulder. At one point, Gilbert grabbed Anne’s hand to steady her as she climbed over a particularly precarious log, and neither of them let go. 

“Imagine,” she said at one point during their walk, “a castle in the rolling hills of Spain. I am the queen and you are the king and we rule the land fairly and nobly.”

“Imagine,” he countered, “a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and a dog, the footsteps of friends- and you!”

Anne agreed that although her imagination was superior, Gilbert’s autumnal fantasy was far better than anything she could possibly dream up.

At the gate, they neglected to say their goodbyes forlornly, instead bidding each other farewell with the knowledge that they would see each other again soon. In a burst of courage, Anne reached up and ran her hand through his hair, rejoicing in the softness and bursting at the seams at the sight of her ring glinting through the dark thicket of hair. Gilbert looked surprised, and in retaliation grabbed a lock of loose hair by her ear (she no longer wore her hair in braids) and pulled, whispering a final “carrots” into her ear before disappearing into the night. 

The taunt no longer filled her with rage. Instead, she found that she felt happier than she ever had in her entire life. 

As she twirled across the field to the house, she slid in the mud and landed on her backside, soiling the dress she had tried so hard to keep clean. But none of it mattered. 

She belonged to him and he to her. 

 

~

 

To say that Marilla was surprised when Anne revealed the proposal was the understatement of the century. Anne was eighteen and hadn’t even been courted. She’d never had a proper beau. Marilla had resigned herself to the fact that Anne would be an old maid like her. So for Anne to show up with a ring? That was astounding in and of itself.

The fact that it was Gilbert was less of a shock. Ever since he had returned to Avonlea, they had grown close, and Marilla had seen, during study sessions and meetings of the writing club (Gilbert had, after long debate, been invited to join the group, and as the clubhouse had been demolished, Anne had volunteered to hold it at Green Gables), how he looked at her. How enamored he was. And she had deciphered, from Anne’s rants and stories with surprisingly familiar characters, that Anne felt the same way. 

It was only a matter of time. 

But there was the issue of Anne going away to Redmond for her continued education and Gilbert going to medical school. But there was no time limit to an engagement, and as long as Anne didn’t- heaven forbid- get pregnant, there was no need to rush the marriage. 

That night, Marilla and Matthew had heard Anne’s overjoyed scream from the woods, although it didn’t sound that way to them. Terrified, they rushed to the porch, peering into the darkness for any clues to what was going on. After a painful ten minutes, Matthew spotted two figures emerging from the woods. 

“I reckon that’s Anne and Gilbert,” he said. The two made their way to the gate and after much delay, one of the figures left. 

The other, most certainly Anne, danced away from the gate, her skirts whirling around her as she spun.

“I hope she didn’t go and soil her dress,” Marilla remarked, watching her twirl towards the house.

As if on cue, she fell, landing squarely on her backside in the mud. Marilla and Matthew immediately rushed down to help her. 

When they reached her, Anne was lying flat on her back, gazing up at the stars, a look of breathless wonder on her face. 

“Anne?” Marilla asked. “Anne, are you alright?”

She didn’t respond. She was breathing heavily, and she kept her eyes trained on the sky. 

Marilla gathered her skirts and crouched down, studying Anne. She looked alright, a little starstruck if anything, but certainly not ill. “Anne, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Marilla,” she said at last, breathless. “Nothing at all.” She started laughing hysterically. “Except I’ve ruined my dress with mud!”

“It’ll wash out,” Marilla chided. “Now, up, child. You’re acting ridiculous.”

“No, I am not!” Anne said petulantly. “I am acting perfectly reasonably for someone in my situation.”

“Uh… what is this situation?” Matthew butted in.

Anne’s answer was a grin. She lifted her hand. 

Marilla held her hand in her own and gazed in wonderment at the ring. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I think it’s pretty clear,” Matthew said softly.

For the rest of the night Anne never stopped talking. Describing the night, the night air, the birds in the trees. Describing Gilbert’s hair, which she had “always yearned to touch, but how it exceeded all my possible expectations!” Describing her and Gilbert as the “king and queen in the bridal realm of love.” 

When told about Gilbert’s idyllic country dream, Marilla looked up from her needlepoint. “Sounds practical.”

“This is no time for practicalities, Marilla!” Anne objected. “This is about the romantical.”

And indeed it was. At mass the next day Anne showed everybody in the congregation her ring and regaled them with a tale of the proposal, even the minister (Gilbert, too, although he laughed and corrected her on a detail). 

As Marilla searched through her room that night, trying to find her old veil, she stumbled upon a rough draft of a letter Anne had been planning to write to Gilbert while he was away. She eventually scrapped it when the news of the gold came up, but Marilla had kept the original copy.

It was much more romantical, as Anne would put it. Instead of facts she had learned about gold, she wrote about the trees coming into bloom and watching the sun rise over the water, wondering if he was watching the same sun set all the way across the world. It was yearning and heartfelt.

Marilla knew Anne loved him in this letter, though she didn’t know it yet. She had loved him all along and had carried her stubborn independence so that she didn’t have to see the truth. 

Marilla smiled and tucked the letter back into its place.

Maybe she would read it at the wedding.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey pals thank you for reading  
> If you liked this leave a comment or join my awae discord! Please!
> 
> DISCORD LINK:  
> https://discord.gg/VUjhJ8c


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